‘Thank God it can’t,’ I said.
A cold streak ran through me as I heard something in the distance. The memory of it was still in my bones from the day I first heard it in the school canteen and my body went rigid in an instant. Ronan was screaming. Mrs McCoy’s stance changed, too, she was like a tigress, alert and upright in search of her cub in distress. I spotted Mr McCoy, red-faced, pushing Ronan down the path from the café coming straight towards us. People had frozen on the spot to watch the screaming boy wheeling past them. Ronan got louder the closer he came to us. His face had turned purple. A group of children had gathered to watch.
‘No,’ Mr McCoy said as he reached us, ‘no, it’s far too busy.’
‘Did you get to use the toilet?’ Mrs McCoy asked.
‘We did, but it’s packed in there, all those kids.’ Mr McCoy was breathless and clearly upset.
‘It’s alright, Ronan, it’s alright,’ Mrs McCoy was saying calmly to him as he continued to scream with no let-up.
‘Ronan, don’t worry, it’s OK,’ I joined in, ‘it’s so friggin’ busy, I don’t like it myself, will we go home?’
Ronan’s screaming began to ease down. He started humming loudly, breathing fast, sweat pouring down his temples and snot running out of his nose.
‘Will we?’ I said again. ‘Home?’
His face was twisting and had gone from purple to red.
‘Yeah-sh,’ he managed to squeeze out.
‘Right.’ I turned to Matty. ‘Get the ramp down, Matty.’
‘Not a bother,’ he said, heading towards the back.
‘Mrs McCoy, give me those backpacks and I’ll get them inside,’ I said, taking them off her as she soothed Ronan by stroking his head and patting his face dry with a tissue.
‘Do you want to see if Ronan’ll take a sip of his juice, Mr McCoy?’ I said.
‘Aye,’ he said, snapping out of a frozen stance and then bringing the straw round to Ronan’s mouth. ‘As long as you don’t gulp the lot and need to pee again, Ronan,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood, but Ronan only took a small sip and turned his head away.
‘Alright, ready to go, Ronan?’ I said.
He was looking a lot calmer as we got him onto the ramp and rose him up into the safety of Matty’s vehicle, closing the back door to shut the outside world away. I climbed in the side and strapped Ronan in. His face was back to its normal colour and Mrs McCoy had dried his face off and cleaned his nose; things were feeling a lot more under control.
Mrs McCoy joined us in the back as Mr McCoy and Matty got in the front.
‘Will we eat our sandwiches now or wait till we get home? I’ve everything in the cool box so it’s fine either way,’ Mrs McCoy said.
‘I think we’ll just head home, Emma,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘What do you say, Brendan?’
‘Aye, I think maybe we should head home. What do you say, Ronan?’
Everyone turned to look at Ronan, he was breathing steady now and looking much more like himself again. He looked around at each of us in turn before speaking.
‘Hah-omme,’ he said. ‘Hah-omme.’
We all turned and looked out our windows at the busy park around us.
‘OK,’ Matty said, starting up the engine, ‘I’m takin’ yous home.’
37
The first day back to school after Easter was filled with the usual post-break energy but, for some, there was a sadness underneath; it was the last time in our lives we would get the ‘coming back to school’ feeling because after June we’d never be coming back ever again. The summer to come would have a different kind of excitement, in anticipation of new colleges, new faces and the unknown. Or at least it felt unknown to me. I was working hard for exams to get good grades, but I had no idea what I’d use those qualifications for other than to get into the tech college I’d applied to for subjects that I had even less of an idea about.
I hadn’t seen Jennifer since before the break. We hadn’t even spoken. She’d phoned my house twice and left messages but I didn’t get round to returning her calls. When I saw her that first morning at the far side of the assembly hall she had the same look a wary but friendly cat might have; it wants you to come close but it might run away at the last minute.
I was supposed to join the Science revision group that lunchtime, but I’d been thinking about Jennifer all morning:guilty over not returning her calls, annoyed that she’d made me feel bad about making the night of the formal about Ronan and not about us, confused about how we had left things before the break, feeling pressure to apologise or at least talk to her. I found her in the canteen; she was sitting with her back to me opposite Margaret, who looked at me with dead eyes which she then used to indicate to Jennifer that someone was behind her.
